


Children of the Summer's End

by thegirlwiththemouseyhair



Category: Velvet Goldmine
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Self-Esteem Issues, Stream of Consciousness, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-09
Updated: 2015-04-09
Packaged: 2018-03-22 00:05:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3708057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegirlwiththemouseyhair/pseuds/thegirlwiththemouseyhair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Canon divergence - Curt takes young Arthur with him on tour after the rooftop scene, as boyfriend or hanger on or distraction, and it's the best Arthur's ever had it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Children of the Summer's End

**Author's Note:**

> I have written other pieces in this AU verse before; these shorts have all grown out of a long AU verse, Songs to Set Me Free, which is totally forthcoming - it even has a title, see? - and has only been in the works for two and a half years. The title of this piece is from Bowie's Memory of a Free Festival, which has pretty much nothing to with the fic thematically. Darkartsandcrafts on Tumblr gave me this particular prompt, or rather prompted me to start something with someone doing their makeup or getting glammed up. This escalated quickly.

He’s had a headache all day from drinking and jetlag and late hours, but that doesn’t stop Arthur grinning at his reflection as he finishes his makeup. No blush this time – he likes that his cheekbones look sharper every day, almost like Brian Slade’s, and likes looking like an adult instead of the shy schoolboy he still feels he is. But he tries to fix a glitter lip gloss over the lipstick he’s wearing, the way he’d seen Malcolm do when he was traveling with the Flaming Creatures. It starts to smudge as soon as he closes his mouth. _Shit._

Then again, it would have kissed off anyway as soon as he got close to Curt. Besides, no one will look at Arthur. He doesn’t make much of an impression, even after leaving home, and even as Curt Wild’s sort of boyfriend. People just don’t notice Arthur, except the odd hotel clerk who’ll look at Curt in disgust for actually traveling with a male partner, instead of just talking about being gay in interviews. They don’t stand a chance with Curt. He’s had to throw a couple – well – tantrums, for lack of a better word, to make sure Arthur gets to stay with him. Arthur’s more amused than anything. _I need it_ , he sometimes thinks. He needs that open anger, the scowling or shouting or threatening to trash the place. They’re everything Arthur can’t do himself. He _can_ do loneliness and confusion and abandonment, but he can’t do anything with those sorts of feelings except fade into the background. Maybe Curt will be a good influence on him.

Arthur tugs at his t-shirt (sequined and low cut like something a girl would wear; he could never have used it when he lived at home). He hates these empty moments spent waiting for Curt in the hotel. Who the hell would live a life like this and still end up sitting around alone like a total loser? He should go socialize with some of Curt’s or Jack’s people and friends and hangers on – smoke a joint, maybe, because he’s feeling a little queasy. Maybe he should get something to eat, too. He could try to talk someone into going for lunch with him, except who’d want to spend time with _Arthur,_ and anyway, he has no money.

He’ll get food with Curt later. If Curt has had a good rehearsal – if he’s feeling creative and upbeat after getting his band on board with some new trick or material – he might spring for room service and champagne and all that.

A quick look at the clock reminds Arthur that he’s slept half the day away. _I need to get out of this room_ ¸ he thinks. He gets up and walks around the living room until he finds the leather jacket he’d tossed to the floor – a hand me down from one of the guys in Curt’s band. As he pulls it on he notices the pad of hotel stationery. He hesitates by the front door, wondering if he should grab some paper and try writing something just to pass the time. It’s been ages since he’s done anything that required that sort of thinking or creativity. But he’d only look stupid if anyone saw him. He’d be better off taking some ludes from the bottle in the bathroom next to Curt’s own stash. The timing’s actually perfect, since he hasn’t eaten in hours. More importantly, it’s nice not feeling ashamed of himself all the time when he’s on them, and the sex is fantastic. He’s amazed at how well he and Curt _fit_ together.

He’s turning away from the front door when he hears Curt’s step in the hall; he would know the sound anywhere. The door swings open abruptly.

“Hey,” Arthur says, whirling around again to face Curt and smiling before he sees Curt’s scowl. _Fuck._ The rehearsal can’t have gone well.

“Hey,” Curt mutters. Then he looks Arthur over and softens. “You look hot – all tarted up.”

Arthur’s smile returns. That’s the thing about Curt: when you have him and his attention, you have _all_ of him, and it’s like the sun is shining just on you, or some bullshit like that. It’s true, in Curt’s case.

The problem, of course, is when Arthur _doesn’t_ have him.

“Thanks,” Arthur says as Curt collapses onto the sofa. “Are you – all right?”

Curt shrugs. He doesn’t answer, just lights a cigarette and takes a few drags before he speaks again, in a dull, slurred voice.

“What did you do today?”

The question’s intimate despite being so utterly mundane. Arthur never knows how to answer those kinds of questions, and yet knowing Curt bothers to ask him feel a little warmer. He can’t imagine what _Curt_ sees in _him_.

“Not much – just slept in,” Arthur murmurs. Curt gives a half-laugh.

“Wish I had.” He finishes his cigarette. No one goes through cigarettes as fast as Curt does when he’s nervous; it still surprises Arthur. Arthur knows, however, that Curt’s been fighting with the guys in his band a lot lately. Arthur’s not sure how long this lineup will last, and he suspects that’s why – or part of why – Curt is so on edge.

“But we shouldn’t just – sit here,” Curt adds, standing up. “We should do something, like fuck or go out and find a party…” He stretches, then takes Arthur’s hand. The touch makes Arthur’s skin tingle as if he were already high on something. “Actually, screw that. I just want you. I’m sick of people – sick of being recognized and hassled and shit.”

Arthur flushes. He supposes Curt keeps him around as a distraction for when he’s tired of fame or whatever, like a pet or a toy. That’s fine by Arthur. The last few days have been the best he’s ever had it.

“Works for me,” Arthur says before leaning in to kiss Curt.

*

They fall asleep together after a long time spent shagging. Arthur was drowsy throughout – he took some of the Quaaludes before they started – but he remembers Curt calling his name over and over, as if he were the most important person in the world. He likes to think he’ll never forget it, and likes being at least dimly aware that Curt’s arms are still around him as they sleep the evening away in their nest of discarded clothes and makeup and empty bottles.  


End file.
